1912
by TheDarlingDearheart
Summary: "The last time he'd seen her, she was leaning against his shoulder as they gazed out over the rooftops of London in 1898. That was fourteen years ago." Post 'Tempus', during the 113-year seclusion.
1. Chapter One

**I love Helen and James, as well as the _Titanic_, as you can likely tell. I had the idea for this story as I was listening to the beautiful _North &amp; South_ soundtrack by Martin Phipps, specifically 'Northbound Train'. I own nothing; just borrowing for my own amusement, really. :3 This will be a very short multi-chapter, which I already have written and need only post periodically. Takes place post-Tempus, during the 113 years of 'seclusion'. ;)**

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The last time he'd seen her, she was leaning against his shoulder as they gazed out over the rooftops of London in 1898. That was fourteen years ago.

James Watson resisted the impulse to sigh as he scrutinized every last inch of the docks at Southampton to no avail. He'd received a letter from her the week before, informing him of her voyage, and had been warring with himself ever since. Did he pretend he'd never received the note, bury it in a desk drawer along with his feelings? Or did he go in pursuit of her?

After his seventh time circling through the hordes of people, James admitted defeat, deciding that, were it meant to be, he would have already spotted her.

As it happened, he'd experienced something of a lapse in judgement, or a moment of weakness though he was wont to admit it, and had managed to secure himself a ticket aboard the _RMS Titanic_ the moment he had read all the way through her letter the first time. So giving one last glance, James reluctantly stepped forward and handed his boarding pass over to one of the attendants and was shown onto the magnificent ship.

The papers in no way did the liner any justice. As he crossed the threshold into one of the main corridors, he felt as though he were attending a high society soirée; He was completely ensconced by lavish clothing and beautiful architecture, and a joyous tune lilted out from a dining room on his right. 'The Merry Widow Waltz', he believed it was. She would know, certainly... if ever he found her.

Two days came and went, and still James had found no sign of her. _Either_ of her, though one he was trying particularly to avoid. He was certain this was not how events had transpired in her timeline, and he was doing as much as he could, given the circumstance, to do no further damage. She'd slap him on the wrist if he did. Or worse. The wrath of Helen Magnus was one to be wary of, indeed, which made him wonder just how she would react upon learning that he was there, following her. James knew Helen well enough to know that she had in no way been requesting his company in writing to him, nor would she presume that he would take it upon himself to follow her to the ends of the earth and back. But, of course, there were many things that he suspected she did not presume about him.

His spirits reached a new low as the third day of the voyage crept upon him, yielding nothing more than the previous two had. He stood on one of the upper decks, admiring the spectacular view that was currently afforded to him. The sun was just beginning to set, casting a deep glow over the ship, painting her and her passengers in red. To his left was a young couple, and to their left, yet another, and another... James suddenly felt quite solitary as he directed his gaze back to the bow, facing the oncoming waves. Chancing a glance to his right, and expecting to be confronted by yet more romance, he was surprised when he found what he was looking for.

Her gown was of a crimson red, far fairer than any sunset. The brown ringlets that framed her face quivered lightly in the breeze, and her gaze was far away as she seemed lost in the ocean and its great depths. James didn't suppose he had ever seen her look more beautiful in all his years.

With a smile, and a new-found lightness in his heart, he slowly paced across the gap to her, and came to a halt at her side. She appeared not to even notice he was there, as he imagined she saw most things; ghosts of her past, walking, speaking, but she could not fathom the way in which to interact with them any longer. They were so far gone, so long behind her that they were suddenly unattainable.

"A gorgeous view, don't you think?" he joked, leaning closer into her line of vision.

Helen jumped, as a frightened cat might, and whirled around to face him, a horrified expression crossing her features. James couldn't understand why on earth she was so upset to see him.

"I received your letter," he explained gently, for her eyes flickered from searing to petrified and back again at an alarming rate, "and I..." And he _what?_ Had decided to procure a ticket at any expense necessary (and not without a great deal of persuasion involving Scotland Yard) and travel a week across the Atlantic Ocean, all in hopes of spending -if he was lucky- a few more minutes with her?

"James-!" she half yelled, half cried as she took him forcefully by the arm and led him over to a secluded nook behind some stairs. "What the bloody hell are you doing here?!"

A frown knitted his eyebrows together as he began again, "Your letter, I-"

"Yes, I _know_ that! I wasn't _asking_ you to come, James; You never could leave well enough alone!" she snapped, feeling guilty as she saw him hastily stow away a hurt expression.

"Forgive me," he replied too quickly and too curtly. "It was a foolish endeavour, and one which I dearly wish I had not pursued." Turning on his heel, he marched away, his reddening face camouflaged by the sun's dying blaze.

Helen closed her eyes and wished to step back in time- again. She would have done nearly anything in that moment to have had another chance at this meeting. But he wasn't supposed to be there. He couldn't be there. To be on this ship, on this voyage, Helen knew, was sealing his death warrant, and she had led him straight to it.

The letter had been a passing fancy, an attempt at finding normalcy in her otherwise unconventional life. She knew it had been a bad idea from the moment the pen had touched the paper, but she had been secluded for so long, without contact to anyone she held dear for years... And the timing had seemed right... Yes. She blamed a great many things on time.

Stepping out from beneath the stairs, Helen's eyes wandered across the deck until she was certain he had retreated somewhere into the ship. She gripped the railing with a force that felt strong enough to bend the iron and steel, but the strong metal didn't falter. Tears stung horribly in her eyes, blurring her vision so that she felt like she was already drowning two days early, and without a soul in sight who could help her.

After she'd boarded the ship on the tenth, each day had been filled with one stressful circumstance after another; between trying to avoid her past self, and any friends or acquaintances she had made, and trying to find a way to stop this blasted disaster from occurring... She breathed in heavily, and released the air in a shuddering sob that had been threatening to escape for nearly fourteen years. James on the _Titanic_ was a nightmare coming true.

And she had no means of escaping it.

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_To be continued..._


	2. Chapter Two

**I present you with chapter two, in which my shippiness begins to show...**

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The rays of the sun beamed brightly down upon him, though he felt very much the opposite of their cheery warmth. He'd not had a wink of sleep the night previous, and had instead lain awake, staring up at the ceiling and frowning in contemplation. Not even the gentle rocking of the great liner could lull him to slumber.

Why had she been so appalled at seeing him? James had thought that after more than a decade, surely she would have felt at least a small amount of gladness in meeting with him again. Apparently he'd been wrong on that count.

He was just becoming fully consumed by his despair when he was hauled rather forcefully off into a small crevice of the ship. About to protest, he was suddenly accosted by a slender finger over his lips. Looking down, he came to know his assailant.

"She's coming this way. Don't say a word," Helen whispered quickly, turning them so that James' back was towards the oncoming other-Helen, and hers was against the ship.

It took a solid minute after the blonde had traveled past them that Helen finally dared to breathe again. She straightened, releasing James' arms, and pressed herself as close as possible to the wall.

Blinking, his brilliant detective's mind still reeling from what had just happened and his proximity to the brunette, James took a step away. Helen, mistaking his movement for a hasty retreat, reached out and once more latched onto his sleeve.

"Please... Hear me out..." She couldn't tell him. She mustn't. To do so would be to set all the timelines reeling into oblivion, of that she was adamant.

Quietly, as was his fashion, he consented. "Very well."

"I apologize," Helen began timidly, for apologies had never been her forté, "for the way I reacted last night."

"Apology accepted," James affirmed, looking anywhere but into her deep blue eyes. They put the oceans to absolute shame, he thought.

"If you only understood..." She grew quiet, studying something beyond her old friend's shoulder, leaving his mind to leap to assumptions and conclusions.

"You're afraid."

The words came softly, almost as though they hadn't been spoken at all; nearly whisked away on the salty sea wind. But she heard them. She pretended for a moment that she hadn't, trying to buy time to come up with a reasonable answer, or a sarcastic retort that would set them on a new path of conversation... Except that was her dilemma. No matter what she did, she was in constant flight from that which she did not wish to think about. The moment a difficult thought -such as their rapidly impending doom- sparked in her head, Helen banished it, leaving it to be dealt with at another, more convenient time. There would be no more opportune moment for them, however; the formidable _Titanic_ would be at the bottom of the ocean in nearly a day. She had no time left to run, and, quite frankly, she was tired.

"With good reason."

When he locked eyes with her once more, they were so full of sadness that it made James' own heart ache. He gently took her by the shoulders and led her into a nearby sun room, vacant of other passengers. Once inside, with the door securely bolted, he returned once more to her and grasped her hands.

"I have already altered my future simply by being here... And I would do it again and again if only it meant spending more of my days with you."

His answer was so genuinely heartfelt that her breath hitched in her throat at the prospect of his future ending at two in the morning on April the fifteenth. "Yes, I am aware," she returned, not without mustering a tiny smirk for his sake. "However, to tell you this would be to forever change the course of history; for all of mankind... On one hand I feel it's my place to intervene, but on the other..."

"What will be lost, and what will be gained?"

James had always been the best of them at reasoning. She, Nikola, John, and Nigel had all been rash decision makers, oftentimes giving little to no thought before making a choice. But James had always been the level-headed one, whose gentle rationality had steered them clear of many disasters. She hoped he would prevail just this once more.

"If I fail to stop-" she paused, not desiring to give too much away just yet; not unless she had to. "A thousand and more lives will be lost..."

It took very little time for him to piece together the cause of such a formidable loss of life. "The ship will sink." It wasn't a question.

Helen gave a slight nod. "Twenty minutes to midnight, tomorrow. If I choose to act, they will all be saved." She didn't need to tell him that she had already made up her mind; it was written plain as day across her face and in her eyes.

He swore and turned away, something Helen had not expected. She watched as he paced, as the wheels of his brain spun rapidly while he attempted to provide her with a solution that would put her at ease.

"When you first came across my path, that day in 1898, you refused to give me a lesson in temporal theory. Perhaps it is _you_ who are in dire need of a reminder about the consequences of time travel, Helen-!"

Hostility was one thing she'd not anticipated. "I need no reminder. Do you truly believe I haven't given this enough thought? I've had a hundred years to mull it all over; If that isn't enough time, then I don't know what is!"

"You _know_ that these people will die. If not now, on this ship, then in some other, equally horrific way. You, more than anyone, should know this."

A brief, haunted look crossed her features as she thought of Adam Worth and his poor daughter, Imogene. Blinking, she attempted to make eye contact with him, but he had once more taken to pacing back and forth, wearing a rut in the floorboards.

At long last he stopped, and as he turned, she was caught off guard once more by the fear and sadness that his own eyes now possessed.

"That you would put yourself in danger, having already lived through what hell that must have been..."

So that was why he was upset. She was endangering herself, and that had always and forever been something that James would not stand for. Not when it was a particularly violent Abnormal, and not even when it was a ship full of innocent people.

"I wish to help them, James." Her voice was tender, and she saw his shoulders slump. "It's what I do."

"It's being reckless," he retorted, though she could tell that his heart wasn't in it.

"Would you have me any other way?"

A smile spread over his lips, eventually eliciting a laugh. "No... Absolutely not, Helen."

She moved across the room to him, taking his face in her hands. "I have missed you, my dear friend," she whispered, for that was all her voice could manage. A tear rolled down her cheek as her face broke into a watery grin. Words could not describe how utterly wonderful it felt to have him here with her once more. To be touching him, as she could no longer in her own timeline. The fact that, in their later years, they had mostly been apart, he in London and she in Old City, had made it easier at first. She found herself pretending he had merely gone back to tend to the London Sanctuary, and would return one day to her doorstep, smiling as he ever had... But the days had worn on, blending seamlessly into years. He had not called, nor come back to knock on her door, and that had been the most difficult.

"You mustn't," James chastised, his thumb brushing the tear from her fair cheek. "Know that I am always here." He pointed to his heart, and smiled so that he made her dissolve into a fit of tears.

"No, no..." She waved him off, laughing quietly as he stood before her in mild shock. He'd never done particularly well with crying females, namely herself. "I find myself becoming more sentimental in my old age."

"Old age!" He scoffed. "Old age, indeed. I never have, and never _will_ know Helen Magnus to be _old_."

"James, please. We all get old, eventually."

"Ah, but not you. Never you, Helen. Your hair may fade to grey, your limbs may fail, but your eyes will never lose that spark. You will forever be young to me."

And she realized in that precise moment that he loved her. That he always had, and that she'd been neglectful to notice. The way he had stayed up with her those nights, when they had on many occasions watched the sun set from the roof of the Sanctuary, the long walks they would take in the park and the even longer hours spent in the lab, in silence, though very much enjoying each others' company... How he had always had her best interest at heart, even if it meant losing her to his best friend. It hit her like a brick wall, the way she had been so blind to his obvious affections, and how she had mere hours to reconcile before she may yet lose him again.

She'd be damned if she did.

"You love me." A statement. A fact. He couldn't deny facts and she knew it.

A terrible blush rose on his cheeks, and she fought the burning desire to laugh. _James is in love!_

"I... Of course I... But Helen, surely, you must... We've been friends for such a long time."

It hadn't quite been what she'd expected or wanted to hear, but she smiled. "Indeed we have."

Not a moment later she was up against the bulkhead, James ravishing her with kisses the likes of which she had never, in all her long years, had the pleasure of experiencing. Full of passion, a touch of fear, and an ardent love which she returned with every ounce of her being.

Their lips parted some time later, when a knock came on the door announcing that tea was being served. The two were content to go without, however, and made an afternoon of strolling around the deck, reminiscing.

She was running from her responsibilities again.

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_To be continued..._


	3. Chapter Three

**I have much re-working/re-writing to do of the following chapters, so I apologize if there's a little bit of a delay before this gets updated again.****  
****Much as my shippiness showed in the previous chapter, my love of one particular person aboard the **_**Titanic**_** shows in this one. :3  
**

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"You have to warn them."

They had been lying on the bed in his cabin for the past hour, Helen's head on his chest as he toyed gently with her curls. She began to intently study the buttons on his waistcoat, until his finger hooked under her chin and he sat up, propping himself against the headboard. Helen rose slowly, keeping her distance.

"You said yourself, Helen, that you've come on board this ship again to change things."

"I can't. It's not right. You and I both know that. You're humouring me, and I wish that you would refrain from doing so."

He smiled at that and opened his arms to her. She would never be able to get enough of his strong embrace, no matter if they lived one day or a thousand more.

"I am." He didn't even bother to deny it any longer. "In the past, it has always proved efficient in helping you make a decision."

"Perhaps..." She sighed softly, once again admiring his waistcoat's buttons. "Am I doing the right thing?"

"That's not for me to say."

"I have always cared far more about your opinion than any other. Even my father's," she added with a chuckle. "I have striven to maintain a certain detachment from everything happening around me. It's surprising how quickly you can grow accustomed to solitude once it's forced upon you. But then your mind begins to wander; you begin to think of all the horrors of the past, all of the things that you now have the opportunity to prevent." Helen straightened enough to look into his eyes. "I cannot end wars. I couldn't save John... But this... _This_ I have the capacity to stop."

James was silent at length, contemplating how best to respond. She had never been one to adhere to the rules, be they universal or self-implemented. He now found himself in a curious predicament: Doctor James Watson was, from this moment, onward, party to whatsoever she chose to do. Not that he particularly minded. He'd follow her to hell and back, literally, as he had made abundantly clear on numerous occasions. Finally, as he brushed a tendril of hair behind her ear with a quiet sigh, he questioned, "But do you have the _conviction?_"

It took a second, but she nodded. "Yes."

"You sound uncertain."

"Well I'm not," she retorted with that spark he so loved.

"There we are." He winked and stood, pulling her up with him.

"What are you-?"

"We have a Captain to warn."

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"Mr. Andrews... _Please_!" She was begging with him, now, but he would hear none of it.

After having made their way to the helm of the ship, Helen had explained -without going into more detail than necessary- exactly what was going to happen in a day's time. It was at that point that something happened which neither she, nor James, geniuses though they were in their own right, had anticipated.

The Captain and nearby crewmen had laughed.

She frowned, not understanding their callousness in a situation so severe. "I am speaking the honest truth to you, gentlemen, and I had hoped that you would take my word of advice in far more serious a manner than-"

"Quite the lady you've got there, sir!" one of the helmsmen remarked in James' direction, rendering the Detective even more silent than he had been the past five minutes.

Which was saying something, for he'd not said a single word.

Helen looked between he and the Captain for some time, trying to re-word her argument, trying to convince the Captain that he was being foolish to dismiss her so, but each time she was laughed at, ridiculed... All while James stood by and watched.

Eventually, when she had had quite enough of their sarcastic retorts and jibes, she turned on her heel and left in a whirlwind that James knew he would be feeling the wrath of later. She stormed down the steps and across the deck, leaving more than a few passengers confused and jostled in her wake.

And so she had come to be in the office of the _Titanic_'s infamous designer. On her previous voyage, he had become a steadfast friend whom she had admired, for he spoke to her as a person and not, as many of the other men, a mere woman. He'd sensed that same spark in her that James Watson so dearly loved, and she knew it.

"I'm sorry, Doctor Magnus, but frankly..." He trailed off, not wanting to outright accuse her of sounding crazed. He, too, knew that below the exterior there was a mighty storm brewing and he wanted absolutely no part in it whatever.

"You think I'm mad," she said at length, collapsing into a chair opposite him in defeat.

"No," he affirmed quickly, leaning across his desk. "But you'll forgive me, Doctor, if I cannot quite believe what I'm hearing."

A small smile was exchanged between the two, and Helen felt a pang of sadness at the thought of losing him again. He was to go down with the ship the very next evening; when the ship split in two, so the papers had speculated. Well... Not if she could help it. If she could save just one person-

Another jolt of grief shot through her. She had James to think about, now. He was her main priority, and she was beginning to feel as helpless as she had a hundred years ago.

"Helen...?"

She looked up at the soft voice and blinked. "My apologies, Thomas, I was... thinking."

"Thinking over what you've done to your hair? I saw you just this morning, and it was as yellow as the sun!" he laughed, earning a small smirk from the brunette.

"Brown as mud, now, I'm afraid," she returned, the half-smile lingering.

"I think it suits you."

Helen smiled her thanks and stood, moving to the door. She laid her hand on the brass knob, then turned to look at him once more. If she was lucky, this would be the last time she'd see her dear friend. This was how she wished to remember him: beaming at her from behind his sturdy oak desk, surrounded by that which he loved- his drawings, _his ship_.

James had asked, earlier, if she had the conviction. It took all that remained within her to turn the handle and walk away.

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_To be continued..._


	4. Chapter Four

**Another shorter chapter. Sorry for the wait (if anyone's even still reading this. :P) Just a bit of a filler/passage of time sort of deal, but with the promise of some interesting things to come. :3**

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She strolled the deck for the next hour after leaving the sanctity of Mr. Andrews' office. Each passing face haunted her like nothing before. Somewhere between returning to 1898 and that moment, Helen had lost the ability to look at the world objectively; It was no longer at arms' length, but mere inches away.

At long last she made it to the bow of the ship and stood, looking out over the calm evening. The sound of the water churning beneath the iron hull brought a strange sense of comfort. She'd always loved the sea- a product of her era, she supposed. The girls had all romanticized it, and even she had entertained the notion for a while, until she learned what cruelty and mercilessness such beauty was truly capable of.

"There you are!"

Helen sighed quietly, but didn't turn. "Yes... Here I am."

There was that tone of contempt he was so fond of in spite of its implications.

"I've been scouring the ship- your friend Mr. Andrews was kind enough to offer some insight, though it wasn't until I heard a couple of gentlemen conversing about ladies and their manners that I knew I was on the right course," he chuckled softly, moving to stand beside the brunette.

That she remained quiet was indicative enough of her current state of mind. With a small sigh, James rested his hand atop hers on the rail and began softly, "I cannot even begin to imagine what you must be feeling right now-"

"No," she nearly snapped. "You can't." After a moment, she added, "What you could have done was defend me."

James laughed. "You need no defending." He thought that, at least, would draw a smile from her, though he turned out to be wrong as he had been so many times before when it came to her. "Helen." He took her hand in his and brought her attention from the cold waters to himself. It was only after she was looking at him expectantly that he realized he wasn't quite sure what to say. "Whatever may happen here... You've done your part. Now it's time to sit back and allow life to take its course, as it always does."

"You don't understand, James! _Life_ will not take its course; _death_ will."

"Then so be it." He felt guilty for saying it so harshly, but there seemed no other way to get through to her.

"No." Helen pulled her hand away and turned back to the oncoming water, laboriously attempting to keep her tears in check.

James loathed that she was just like him when it came to being stubborn. "Why?"

Surprisingly, that was enough to get her talking. "I will _not_ lose you! You weren't supposed to come, James... You're meant to be at home in London, _safe_."

She thought that he'd left, he was so silent amid the roaring of the ship, but minutes later she felt warm arms encircle her and pull her close. Helen was thankful if only for the fact that she'd neglected to bring a shawl. Leaning against him and closing her eyes, even for a brief moment, took the incredible weight off her shoulders for once on this seemingly endless voyage toward disaster.

"Why didn't you tell me?" His voice was soft but fraught with emotion barely concealed, and he pulled her still tighter to his chest.

"You're remarkably dim for someone so astoundingly clever, James," she muttered.

"So this is _my_ fault, now, is it?"

"Entirely." She looked up with the beginnings of a smile as he laughed. "I don't mean that."

"I know."

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then rested his forehead against hers. "We _will_ overcome this."

"You sound so certain that I can almost believe you."

"Good."

Looking out on the daunting sea that yet lay ahead, he doubted whether his words held any merit.

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She stayed in his room that night, knowing it would be their last aboard the _Titanic_. Her mind was reeling as James dozed peacefully, her head on his chest and body pressed up against his side. Less than a day, if the clock on the wall was correct, before the inevitable occurred. Sucking in a breath, she finally worked up the courage to close her eyes, only to be met with the sounds and moving pictures of the death, the destruction...

Early-morning light began to filter through the porthole behind her, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. So began one of the longest days of Helen's even longer life.

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It was a quarter past four in the afternoon. There were people talking to her, things happening around her, but she didn't hear or understand them. Laughter rang out in the hall in which they stood, but she saw no reason for mirth. It took a great deal of effort for Helen to continuously remind herself that these people hadn't the faintest idea what would be happening in mere hours. _So much the better for them_, she thought.

"Helen?"

James' voice drew her out of her reverie and she looked up at him with something of a lost expression.

He smiled sympathetically. "We'll go dancing this evening, won't we?"

"Dancing?" She frowned. Dancing on a night so perilous...

"Yes, dancing!" one of the other women laughed, as though it was the most ludicrous thing she'd ever heard: someone questioning dancing. _Heaven forbid._

"I..." Helen looked to James, who smiled that knowing smile he had and which she loved so dearly.

"Make the most of the evening," he encouraged meaningfully.

"Yes," she returned. "The most."

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_To be continued..._


	5. Chapter Five

**Sorry for the atrociously long wait! Thank you to everyone who reviewed and followed, and to any readers- you're all fantastic. School and school-related things have kept me from updating, so after a long wait, I hope this chapter is worth it! It's my favourite thus far. :3**

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When next he met her just outside the ballroom, she looked radiant. Not that James had expected anything different.

The dress was delicate, with cream-coloured lace and a dark overlay, embroidered throughout with blue ribbon flowers. His eyes followed it down to her feet, where rich blue velvet pooled, and he found it ironic, (or perhaps fitting), that she had chosen this dress for this night.

A hint of a smile graced Helen's lips as she finally reached James and took his hand in hers. He noticed that her grip was tightening at an alarming rate, and that if she didn't soon stop he might very well lose that hand.

"Helen," he began gently, taking her hand in both of his while subtly attempting to pry it loose, "we have time."

"Two hours," she countered quietly, not wanting anyone to overhear them.

James nodded, but smiled as he leaned in and left a soft kiss on her cheek. "Two hours simply to forget and enjoy one last evening on this incredible ship."

She didn't like this in the slightest. She felt that she should be planning, making all manner of preparations for when the impact occurred.

"We should already be lining up for the lifeboats," Helen whispered, eliciting a laugh from her comrade.

"Forget the lifeboats, the iceberg... _everything_." James led her through the swarms of people and into the dining room. "Enjoy what's left of this, Helen."

So for the next two hours, the pair danced and dined. There were moments when Helen genuinely forgot about their impending doom and laughed as James twirled her so freely around the room waltz after waltz.

But then the ship would shudder -normally, as ships are wont to do- and she would panic, grasping frantically at her partner.

"Helen," he chastised on this latest occasion, "our two hours have not yet passed us by."

She knew this, of course, for she had been watching the clock vigilantly the entire evening. "Yes, James..." Helen shook her head and gave a small laugh. "You have my sincerest apologies."

"Don't apologize." James beamed at her and went so far as to press a light kiss to her lips before stepping back into their waltz.

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The minute hand moved: twenty minutes to midnight.

Her anxiety was palpable as she looked frantically around. James had left her to speak with someone or other, and she had been seated at the edge of the room by a window for the better part of ten minutes. Ten minutes which she had spent watching that minute hand move ever on. She could have been gathering people out of steerage, or... God knew what.

But this was it. This was the precise minute at which that unsinkable ship of dreams would collide with nature and come to rest at the bottom of the Atlantic.

...

Except that it didn't.

The ship didn't shake, as it had those hundred years ago. The pleasant music and chatter continued from those who were left- most had retired to their staterooms for the night. So now the question plagued her: Why were they not all being told to put on their life vests and make their way to the upper decks? Why had they not yet struck the iceberg?

Helen rose and, steeling herself, snuck out of the room. She traveled up the grand staircase, not daring to think that it would be her last time, and out onto the deck. The air was positively bitter and she shivered against the cold, having earlier been coerced out of bringing a coat to the ballroom. She strode across the deck and to the point at which the great mountain of ice had struck the first time. Leaning over the rail just enough to see the side of the ship, she was shocked to realize that the steel was not torn, there was no gaping hole in the side of _Titanic_ that would doom them.

Music from inside drifted out to meet her, lending itself to an utterly eerie sensation that washed over Helen like a bucket of cold sea water. Her mind reeled as she straightened and gripped the rail for all she was worth. How was it possible?! She had kept herself out of all she could, had tried not to mingle too much, lest she change history... and yet somehow she had. _James_. It had to have been James' involvement. That was the only thing that had changed, besides herself.

"Doctor Magnus?"

A soft voice that she'd know anywhere, and that she was infinitely glad to hear again. She turned, keeping one hand tightly locked on the rail, and couldn't help but smile at the sight of her old friend.

"Mr. Andrews."

"You must be freezing-! What on earth are you doing out here, and on your own?" he inquired, already removing his jacket.

She held up a hand to protest his chivalry but he was quick to drape it around her shoulders, and she smiled gratefully; the warmth was entirely too welcome in the chill air.

"I..." Helen wanted to explain. She wanted to tell him everything and have him listen and evacuate everyone, including himself.

He looked at her expectantly with those friendly eyes and that perpetual hint of a smile.

"I came out to get some fresh air," was what she finally settled on.

"On a night like this? You'll catch your death. Come, let's get you inside."

"No!" she protested a little too quickly. "I can't."

The architect frowned. "Has something happened?"

"No, no..." Helen sighed heavily, turning back to face the blackness that lay beyond them. "Rather, it's what _hasn't_ happened."

Her explanation seemed to do little to clear up her companion's puzzlement, for she heard nothing but the sound of the water parting as the great ship cut through it.

"What... _hasn't_ happened," he affirmed, then, "You're speaking of the iceberg."

Helen's head snapped up and she locked eyes with the man standing beside her.

"You have forgotten the conversation we had yesterday?"

She shook her head. "No..." But since it was already done, since she had already told him and his fate was likely still sealed, "Yes. The iceberg."

"We've had smooth sailing, and I've been informed that we'll continue to experience much the same through to morning," he assured.

"Oh... Perhaps I was being ridiculous, after all," Helen conceded.

"Never." Andrews beamed at her. "Would you accompany me inside, now? Perhaps share a dance?"

It took a moment for her to consider his offer, and, ultimately, she turned away. "I'd prefer to remain here, thank you, Thomas."

She continued to gaze out over the still water until his outstretched hand made its way into her line of vision. Helen looked down at his hand, then back up at him to see the smile she would always know and miss.

"Here, then?"

A lump rose in her throat as she brought her gloved hand to rest lightly in his, and turned her back on the sea.

He led her to the middle of the deck where a hint of music continued to drift out to meet them, and started them in slow steps, careful not to upset the jacket he had delicately arranged on her shoulders. As time wore on, Helen's ability to keep her emotions in check began to wear away. Something was amiss with the timeline, and it could go one of two ways: Either they would make it to New York unscathed and forever change the course of history, or the inevitable was coming and she had just lost her advantage at knowing precisely when.

A few tears rolled down her cheeks, and their dance stopped.

"I'm sorry, Thomas," she apologized quickly.

"Have I upset you?"

Leave it to him to assume he'd wronged her somehow.

"No, of course not."

"Then-?"

"The ship is supposed to sink! We should be filling the lifeboats, getting every person in steerage up onto this deck-!"

"Helen!" He released her hands and gently grasped her shoulders. "Helen, we are safe! This ship is not going to sink!"

"Won't it?!" she nearly yelled. "This ship was meant to be struck by an iceberg at forty minutes after eleven this evening, and be at the bottom of the ocean by twenty past two tomorrow morning with _you_ and a thousand others still on board!"

For what seemed an age, Andrews simply stared at her. She didn't expect him to be able to process what she'd just told him.

"Please," she whispered at length. "Evidently there is still time. Have them alter course, away from any ice fields, danger..."

By this point he had looked away, staring out, as she had, at the sea which stretched far beyond them like a sheet of ebony glass. A wrinkle came over his brow, and the slightest downward tug at the corner of his mouth. Then he returned his stormy gaze to her.

"You know as well as I do, Helen... They would not listen. Mr. Ismay-"

"Damn Mr. Ismay!" she snapped.

"Helen..."

"I refuse to let anyone meet their fate on this voyage if I can help it. Especially you," she added with a tone of finality.

"Then, should this night be our last, let us not squander it."

Andrews looked down at their hands and, ever so slowly, brought one of Helen's back to his shoulder. He replaced his on her waist, and once again began their waltz- a different song, now, the tune had changed.

In spite of the little bout of tears, Helen knew that looking back on this night of nights, she would forever be grateful to have danced it away with Thomas Andrews. Stopping their dance once more, she kicked off her shoes and tugged the satin gloves from her hands, then resumed her position. She wanted to be able to feel the polished wood under her feet, touch the linen of his shirt and wool of his vest. Her grip tightened on his hand, wanting to remember how warm it was when held in hers. The days were rapidly approaching where she would ache each day, then gradually less, until he was always somewhere in the back of her thoughts; until the fifteenth day of April was the only day on which she would permit herself to think of him, of them, of their waltz on the deck of the _Titanic_...

Andrews gave a small chuckle as he watched her shoes glide a short way across the deck. "You have changed on this voyage, Helen."

She smiled wryly. "More than you know."

There were sudden shouts, then a tremendous shudder which almost knocked her over. A loud crash came from behind her and she saw Andrews' face turn ashen as he stared beyond her. Helen wheeled around to see what looked to be a great, towering wall of ice looming before them. Her stomach bottomed out and she thought she might be sick as large chunks of ice began dropping onto the deck of _Titanic_.

Helen turned to Andrews, eyes wide. "What time is it?"

The absurdity of her question amid what had just occurred was lost on him and he quickly pulled his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat. "Fifty-seven minutes past."

_Seventeen minutes._

She'd changed history by seventeen minutes.

* * *

_To be continued..._


	6. Chapter Six

Truly there was very little frenzy at the start.

A few men trickled out of a smoking room, abandoning their cigars and game of cards in favour of discovering what on earth had people so enraptured out on the deck. Crewmen came and went none too hastily from the site of the disaster, and a general calm befell those around her.

'Strong ship' and 'watertight bulkheads' were words that floated in excess across her ears as Helen remained rooted to the spot, back to gripping the railings and peering over every so often as though she expected the tear to miraculously increase in size.

Andrews had gone down at the first with the Captain and several members of the crew to assess the damage, but it all mattered very little to her. She knew already the fate that had befallen the magnificent ship, though seventeen minutes late, and so she had chosen to remain above. The warmth she had felt whilst dancing had all but dissipated and now panic was rising rapidly in her chest once more.

The hell if she knew where James had gone to, whether she would ever see him again, what, precisely, she would do if she were never to lay eyes on him hereafter... The clarity with which she could see his name printed in a newspaper the day she made port was alarming. That was, of course, provided she _did_ make port.

"Helen!"

Blinking, she finally managed to turn at hearing her name.

"I left you at the table, looked back, and you were gone," James began in something of a chastising manner until he saw the look on her face. "She's hit."

Helen nodded in response and pried her hands off of the rails. Each step she took afterward was slow and deliberate, as if she had forgotten how to walk. She stumbled but once, and James stepped up to steady her. All the while, the brunette remained resolutely silent, a peculiarity which did not go unnoticed by the detective.

"What's done is done, Helen," he hedged cautiously. "They'll start lowering the lifeboats soon enough and–"

"No."

"'No'?"

"No one, save a few of the crew, knows that anything is wrong." She directed her gaze from the place she'd been staring blankly over his shoulder to his eyes and continued with a sense of finality, "They don't believe she'll sink, they can't even fathom it. I know, because I thought precisely the same thing."

She had barely even felt the tremor on her first voyage. The only thing that had alerted her to danger had been a run-in with a slightly flustered Andrews, who had bade her put on a lifebelt and wished her well. That had been the last time she'd seen him.

"Then what do we do?" James was treating her as the expert, which she undoubtedly was in this situation. He didn't have the misfortune of being able to say he'd already survived what would be recognized as one of the world's greatest marine disasters.

The problem with his question was that Helen had far too many things on her mind that needed accomplishing within their limited time frame of roughly two hours and forty minutes, if history held true on that. If the delay she had experienced thus far had been an hour or two rather than a measly seventeen minutes, there might have been time to rouse everybody, get them up on deck, and loaded onto a rather-more-close-by _Carpathia_. On this she could not help but dwell, for, even in changing, time was dealing her a hard blow.

But that hadn't happened, wouldn't happen, couldn't happen. She blinked back to the present, or as much into the present as she could be while it seemed she was observing everything from an outsider's perspective instead of her own. It was as unpredictable as the first time, and just as fruitless, for she knew that if she were to suggest the lifeboats be launched that she would only be further mocked and ridiculed. So then... What _was_ there to be done?

"We keep you safe," was what she eventually decided upon. "I will not lose you here. My other self still needs you immeasurably."

"Selfish, aren't we?" he laughed.

"Oh, please, now is not the time for banter." She gave him a look that was not to be trifled with, linked her arm through his, and started off across the deck, heading for their stateroom. "Lifebelts first."

... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ...

As more and more passengers became aware that there was a problem, chatter began to rise, traffic in the corridors reached higher and higher volumes, and the overcrowding in the Grand Salon became unbearable, yet still there was a general calm that befell the people. The evacuation, surely, was merely a safety precaution while they attempted to repair the propeller. Some said the propeller was lost altogether. Others made mention of a number of tears running through the steel along the starboard side.

She had heard all of the theories time and again, yet it made this time no easier than the last. What Helen was now living with was the knowledge that she had failed on multiple counts to make this right.

"Here."

The brunette was jolted out of her thoughts as James began to fasten the ties around her lifebelt when it became evident that she would not.

"Thank you," she muttered absently.

They were standing in the middle of James' stateroom after having arrived there a minute or two before. James was rather focused on the lifebelts and finding warm clothes for them to don, while Helen remained still, lines creasing her brow as she continued to tax her brain. There was a solution to all of this. There had to be.

"Dwelling on it will do you no good- it hasn't before."

"What would you have me do, James?" she snapped. "Shall we find a magical machine and fly off into the night?!"

He hadn't been expecting such an attitude from her, but was careful to remind himself that _this_ Helen had already lived through the sinking of this ship once and was now being forced to do it again.

"I'm sorry," he responded quietly after a lengthy silence had passed between them.

Helen sighed softly and closed her eyes. When she opened them again and looked at him, he could see the Helen that he knew once more. The frown which had seemed permanent was gone, her eyes gazed at him softly, and her lips had upturned in a half-smile. She looked the way that 'his' Helen did... except with brown hair.

"No... You've done nothing wrong, James." She stepped into his open arms and he pulled her tightly to him.

"Had I not followed you on board, your next course of action would be clear."

"Would it? Even if I were here on my own... I don't know what I would do."

"What you do best- help people."

She gave him a look. "That doesn't appear to be my forte at the moment."

"Helen," he chastised softly, "you're frightened, you're in shock-"

"I'm not frightened," she countered quickly, her eyes averting.

He could see her shutting him out again and he wouldn't tolerate it.

"You're allowed to be. You know exactly what's coming, you've lived it before; you have more right than most."

Helen looked up at him once more, this time with tears threatening to fall. She hated it when he was right.

"Alright. Yes, I'm frightened. I'm bloody terrified. But I can't allow that to interfere right now. There's far too much at stake."

"It's," he paused to check his fob watch, "a quarter past midnight. There is still plenty of time, isn't there?"

"Until twenty minutes after two. That is, if history holds. We were supposed to hit the iceberg at-"

"Helen," he interrupted softly and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips.

When they parted, she gave him a look that, under normal circumstances, would mean that James was in a world of trouble. However, it shortly turned to a smirk.

"You still don't have the upper hand here, I hope you know."

"I never do where you're involved," he chuckled.

"Good. Come on, we've got work to do." She took him by the hand and began leading him out of the quiet sanctity of the stateroom and back into the fray.

They had moved a grand total of three feet from the room when a familiar voice was heard above the din behind them.

"_James_?! What on earth are you doing here?!"

He turned.

Helen ran.

* * *

_To be continued..._

* * *

Historical Note: The little blip at the beginning about the men leaving their card game is 100% fact according to a survivor of the disaster, and is also one of my favourite stories about that night. :)


End file.
